Body Talk

I can’t promise there won’t be TMI in this.

Everyone tells you how your body will change during pregnancy and after birth. Stretch marks, a “pouch”, varicose veins and all sorts of other wonderful side effects of growing a human being.

I was reading a book recently and the main character had a baby. She was struggling with body image afterwards, but holding her child showed and reminded her how worth it those changes were.

I’m not naive enough to think that a healthy baby takes away from body image insecurity, it definitely doesn’t. I just don’t think there’s much out there for the mums who don’t also get to hold their child. Who may feel like their bodies failed their baby (it didn’t. You are amazing) and still upsets them by looking different.

So what about those of us who carry our child, experience these changes but don’t hold a baby in our arms? How do we cope seeing how different we look, experiencing those post birth symptoms but not having a baby to cuddle as compensation?

My body still thinks I have a baby. I pumped for Stephen and one of the hardest things to have to do while grieving was to dry up my milk. For two days I was pumping, in tears, over the sink in the bathroom. That liquid gold that had norished my son was literally going straight down the drain. The countless packets frozen in the hospital were thrown away (thank you COVID for stopping me being able to donate it). I was literally crying over spilt milk. A blocked duct had me in agony and Google suggested that I had baby latch differently to help unblock it. Cue frantically googling and trying to find a remedy that didn’t involve my baby, the baby I didn’t have. I still leak occasionally now.

I still had the usual pains in my ceasarian wound. I still had to recover from major surgery. I was helpfully told that I could lift things no heavier than my baby as they grew, but I couldn’t lift him. How heavy would he be now? I carried on with life and used common sense but so much of mum’s recovery is dictated or measured by their child. I didn’t have my child.

I have stretch marks. I have a “mum tum”. I don’t fit into the same clothes as before. I don’t feel attractive, I don’t feel like me. I look like a “mum” but I can’t be one. People on the beach or in public won’t know that I carried a child. They will just see the marks. I know what people think shouldn’t matter to me, but, for anyone in this society, it’s really hard to remember and live by that.

I am trying to see my body as amazing. It grew and protected Stephen for 9mths. It kept him safe and warm. I held him within me, spoke to him, marvelled at how my body became his home.

Stretch marks are badges of honour. They show I grew and adapted to keep my son safe. My “mum tum” is where he called home. The only place he was truly safe in his short life.

Do I love how I look? No.

Am I proud of what my body achieved? Yes. It gave Steven and I our perfect little boy. I’d happily go through those changes again to have those 20 days with Sprout.

We need to stop mum shaming, body shaming and pressurising women to “bounce back” after birth. Fuck that. I don’t want to erase all traces of having carried my son. They’re all I have left now.